


say it with your hands

by harleyhearts



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Brief Smut, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Frenemies, Frenemy's Sister, Hook-Up, Love at First Sight, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oral Sex, POV Clary Fray, Swearing, art gallery, only way to do clary and alec's friendship tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:46:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29400738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harleyhearts/pseuds/harleyhearts
Summary: It's probably the biggest, weirdest, best day of Clary's life. And it's about to get better.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Clary Fray/Jace Wayland - past, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood - background
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	say it with your hands

**Author's Note:**

> femslash february baby!!! i really wanted to try something slightly new writing this and? it's new? for all my fellow fluff stans, this is basically my usual fluff with like. 5 lines of mature content. i suck at nsfw creations okay!!!! anyway, missing my shadowhunters girlfriends as always <33 thank youuuu to my baby Cat (as always) for beta reading my fics that i finish at like 3am, u are my number one boo. mwah! title from treacherous, taylor swift, u know it gays. hope yall enjoy!!!

“No.”

Clary has to admit it sounds harsh, especially with that annoyingly convincing, pleading look of his, “Come on, biscuit.”  
“Absolutely not!” she huffs.

And yes, her opposition of Magnus, her dearly beloved Magnus, bringing his boyfriend to her first art exhibit probably sounds weird to an outsider.

Stupid, even, but it’s not stupid in her head, because she’s _met_ his boyfriend.

And, well, long story short, she doesn’t get along with Alec. At all. But he started it!

Her friend lets out a prolonged sigh, successfully making her feel guilty and ridiculous about all of this. “I truly don’t understand you two, and you’re my favorite people on this earth.”

Magnus really does have a way with words. Perhaps because he carefully chooses them, never once stumbling or stuttering, making the most mundane statements sound like a quote Instagram influencers post under their numerous sunset photographs.

He also sounds deeply profound, she knows he is, which only makes her feel worse. But it’s not exactly her fault that his boyfriend is rude to her for no reason, is it?

Clary’s resting her chin on the pillow, knees to her chest, and trying to think of a way for the discussion to continue that doesn’t sound rude on her end, either.

“Babe,” she’s starting as he’s dropping down beside her, “I just- I don’t know why, Alec just hates me!”

“He doesn’t _hate_ you-”

“He picked a fight with me the first time we met, over _a movie_.”

She thinks Magnus is getting her point. At least, he lets out a small groan of frustration and rubs his brow. 

Then, he takes her hand in his, “I admit he’s not terribly sociable.”

Clary wants to chuckle at the understatement, but holds it in. Instead, she rests her head on her friend’s shoulder.

Magnus continues, “I do wish you would get along. Or maybe just not nearly kill each other when you’re in the same room, really.”

“Hm.” is all she lets out, and he looks at her with a questioning gaze. 

“What are you thinking about, biscuit?”

She smiles at the nickname and looks up. It’s clearly important to him. Clary’s known ever since they first met, really, because those two are made for each other, simple as that. And she hates how much it bothers Magnus, so she’s got to give in.

Fuck it, hopefully there’ll be enough of a crowd that they don’t even have to look each other. It’ll be fine.

So Clary sighs in a similar fashion, “I guess you can bring him along.”

Magnus laughs heartily, and she can’t help but grin.

“You promise you’ll behave?” he asks, sounding awfully like a tired grandpa, and she rolls her eyes at him, “Only if Alec does the same.”

And of course, Magnus puts on that smile he only reserves for his boyfriend, she’s become an expert at recognizing whenever he’s brought up, or if he’s thinking about him unpromptedly, even.

“I’ll make sure of it.” 

He plants a kiss on the top of her head, and then it’s settled. Clary’s sure she can survive one night, just this once. 

Besides, this is going to be her big night, and the butterflies in her stomach still haven’t settled. She’s not going to let a stupid feud ruin the excitement.

…

Opening night, those butterflies are still obscenely present, which isn’t all that surprising, to be honest.

Clary still can’t believe it.

Above all else, she’s so, _so_ grateful and happy and over the moon that she knows Dot, who’s supported her art since her childhood, and when patrons start bustling around her exhibit after the welcome drinks, she feels a little bit unstoppable.

And Magnus looks so proud she’s afraid he’ll break down crying any moment, honestly.

She’s receiving a million kisses from him, actually, right after getting a boatload from Simon and Maia already, until a certain tall asshole decides to stir up her joy for a minute.

Well, okay, Alec’s rather quiet. Nothing new.

He hasn’t rolled his eyes at her once, which is certainly promising. Clary wouldn’t be surprised if he had decided to simply ignore her existence, and if that works out for the both of them, who is she to complain?

“Clary,” he greets her, strangely polite, and looks to his boyfriend for what can only be reassurance, “You’re still short.”

“Alexander!”

What’s she even supposed to reply to that?

But given all the success she’s having lately, the warmth in her cheeks from the strangers who have already inquired about the prices of some of the paintings, and maybe, possibly, the bubbles from the champagne, she decides to laugh.

Alec frowns like he’s tasted something bitter.

Clary’s almost about to roll her eyes, throw a snarky remark at him, when her faithful friend is already about to drag him away, “My love, let me show you my favorite, okay?”

And of course, she lets go of Magnus’ hand, and it’s mostly the usual, except Alec stutters. The sounds never become any more than that, though, and seemingly dies in his throat.

Huh, weird.

It’s not his normal annoying, competitive self, but she doesn’t let it faze her for long.

Not that she’s all that innocent about the competitiveness of their relationship, either. They were both on the lacrosse team back then, come on.

His sourness towards people in general is notorious, as Magnus has reminded her, and she gets it, in some ways. But somehow, Alec decided that she was going to be his personal enemy.

Her friend told her that was overdramatic, but… it’s not!

Honestly, she doesn’t understand how the giant of a man seems persistent on this, even when Clary can more or less take credit for introducing him to his soulmate. 

Sometimes she even considers confronting him directly, but maybe it doesn’t even matter what she does, everything annoys him. Whatever.

But- listen, it doesn’t matter how many times he says it, she doesn’t have _that much_ of a temper!

She long ago accepted the fact that her and Alec would be _frenemies_ , if that’s what you call it, a silly term, and she’s got plenty of other things to worry about right now.

Her mom soon enough makes her entrance, tears already on their way and her dad beaming on her arm - _no_ , not _him_. It’s Luke, of course it is, because her father by blood was never to rely on and he doesn’t fucking matter.

Luke’s been there as long as remembers, so it’s not like she’s got much of a relationship with Valentine, anyway. She’s got her dad with her here, always has.

And Clary might be on the brim of tears hugging them both now.

It’s almost too much sentimentality and sappiness and silly tugging of heartstrings for her, proud parents gleaming, that she needs to take a break. Little does she know she’s about to be distracted. Very, _very_ soon.

…

It’s funny how Clary’s attention is just about all over the place tonight, a million things to do, and yet another factor comes along.

Maybe a factor of a _person_ that blows her away. Dramatic again, but she’ll stand by that point. Because there’s many strangers here, too many to keep count, however, turning around to this woman approaching her at her pastel series makes her feel like a deer in headlights.

She’s never seen the woman before, but _holy shit_ , she’s pretty sure this is the most beautiful person that’s ever stepped their feet onto the earth.

Can you blame her when flowing dark hair, ruby red lips, and long fluttering eyelashes framing doe-eyes halts her body to a stand still and her brain to short circuit? Clary doesn’t think so.

The woman in front of her is the picture of elegance, clad in a white, lace turtleneck and black leather jeans, hair swept up in a halfway bun, and a hand reached out that she figures out all too late is meant to be shaken.

God, she’s an embarrassment.

But seriously, who is this person, and why would she ever grace Clary, a mere mortal, with her goddess-like presence?

Okay, she probably needs to calm down a bit. It’s fine.

Luckily, the beautiful woman smiles, and it makes Clary feel all soft, for some reason.

“You’re Clary Fray, right?” she asks, lashes still fluttering when she blinks, “I _adore_ this piece. I don’t know all that much about art, but the colors you use are stunning.”

Clary just can’t help smiling back, knowing her dimples are showing already. She sounds so sincere, too, making it hard to fight back the blush that’s making its way into her cheeks.

Well, it’s not like she wasn’t already red in the face, but okay.

“God, I- thank you.” is what she answers, shortly, trying not to stumble over the words too much.

Frankly, she has absolutely no idea who this person is. But when some slightly… _intimate_ thoughts, let’s say that, appears in her brain, she knows she’s got to pull herself together.

First of all, they literally just met. She gave her a compliment, while also being incredibly attractive, that’s all.

Second of all, thinking about the possibility of a one night stand or whatever on a night like this is definitely out of the equation. Fucking hell, she can’t abandon the exhibit. Okay, there’s gonna be an afterparty, so she could sneak out… but it’s not even realistic, anyway!

Way out of her league. A stranger simply trying to be fucking nice. Come on, Clary.

It seems her new acquaintance realises her name remains unspoken, and so speaks again, pleasant voice sticky sweet like syrup, only leaving Clary wanting _more_ , “I’m Isabelle, by the way. I do hope I’m not bothering you, I mean, approaching you out of the blue.”

 _Isabelle_. Clary doesn’t really know what she expected, but it fits like a silk glove onto her hands, the lacquered nails matching her lips flawlessly.

Then again, any name would sound beautiful coming out of her mouth, to be honest.

If Aphrodite was pictured any other way than of the woman standing in front of her, she’d be severely disappointed. Deep breaths, Clary.

“Not at all.” she replies, of course. God, she feels relentlessly embarrassed by her response.

Although she may feel Simon’s eyes watching the back of her neck, probably reeling to investigate her smugly about her _new friend_ , the fear that Isabelle might think she’s awkward for the wrong reasons overpowers everything else in her head.

She’s actually almost about to apologize, when the beautiful stranger poses a new question, “Am I correct you’ll speak a little of this piece at the afterparty?”, motioning her chin towards the trio of sculptures behind them, “I’d love to know your process behind creating something like that. I’m very, well, scientific about that.”

All this flattery makes Clary want to hide on a deserted island in the middle of the Pacific while simultaneously making her feel like she’ll grow wings and rest on pastel pink clouds.

She’s never been good at spontaneity, but somehow, the hand that still remains loosely on her upper arm, not holding, per say, but touching lightly, makes her want to take a chance. Which is fucking terrifying.

Clary has no idea if that’s a good idea, but well, Magnus has advised her to be more straightforward. Be honest about your feelings, he said. 

Maybe just, _you’ll never know if you didn’t try_ , that sort of mentality. Well, here goes nothing.

“Yes, but-” she starts, that simple little b-word already catching Isabelle’s attention, it seems, with her eyebrow raising slightly, “It’s a bit much, to be honest. All the people. Please tell me if this is out of line, but do you wanna-uhm, grab a drink, maybe?”

Either Clary’s going absolutely mad, or it’s definitely a smirk that blossoms up on the woman’s delicate features.

“I can’t resist an offer like that.”

Isabelle shrugs innocently, fluttering her lashes again. Exactly the answer she’d hoped for.

…

So, Clary finds herself seated at the bar just a couple of blocks away from the gallery she previously occupied.

Just not any bar, that is to be noted, but since Maia’s off right now, she’s a little less tense about the situation. Can you tell this is the first time she’s offered a girl a drink?

It’s strange how she even found the confidence, still doesn’t believe it, but there you have it. Clary’s nursing a strawberry daiquiri, the notes of something poppy and longing coming through the speakers, sounding suspiciously like ABBA, while the matching cocktail stands abandoned, much like the chair previously taken by her stunning companion.

She thinks she might run out of words to internally describe Isabelle, because something about her just screams _divine_.

It also makes Clary want to scream with how quick her brain’s going to thoughts like that. This is just a drink, the woman is an approachable stranger, what is it with her and this _love at first sight_ mentality going on here?

She tries to think logically while Isabelle’s in the bathroom, really.

But again, that love-at-first-sight thing keeps revisiting her mind, which is still dramatic as fuck and probably dangerous.

Clary hadn’t pinned herself as a hopeless romantic. It makes her sort of uncomfortable.

Isabelle taking the barstool once more, and putting her hand on the counter, right next to Clary’s own in a way that she just can’t believe is accidental.

Or fuck, maybe, but it’s not even that sort of fleeting graze, no, her companion’s pinky finger curls over hers in a moment to rest, and then that soft touch doesn’t move away, and the goddess-like woman carries on the conversation on her research project as if she never left.

Her eyes light up in a certain way when she goes, “What I really want to do is psychiatry. And children, teens, I- I’ve wanted to work with them, help them, since I started, I think.”

Isabelle just might look even more beautiful talking about her passion, which Clary’s quite shocked is possible.

Truth be told, she doesn’t really know how long they talk. It seems for hours on end, the spinning of the earth coming to a halt, dedicating time to them and them only.

The conversation hovers on each of their work, revealing some embarrassing hookups, which feels a little easier when Clary finds out she’s not alone in that, and Isabelle’s allegedly horrible cooking.

She flutters her eyelashes when she laughs, bending over her drink and taking a moment to breathe, “My brother’s made me promise to never touch his kitchen again.”

Clary widens her eyes in disbelief, but the goddess nods, mouthing _Trust me_.

So maybe the bartender’s getting annoyed at them for laughing for, like, twenty minutes straight. Well, he’s only sent them frowny looks, and a hand gesture looking a lot like shushing.

Which is what makes the anger flare up in Clary’s chest, just a nod.

Fuck Alec and his so-called intuition of anger issues, what does he know? This is a valid situation for frustration!  
At least she’d say that if he was here, frowning at her, and if Isabelle didn’t move her hand from the table to her shoulder, bare skin against each other, and flash a secretive smile.

“Clary,” her name sounds, low and in a questioning tone, and she encourages her companion to continue, “Gosh, I hope I’m not reading this wrong. My flat’s around the corner, if you’d like to come around? Of course, we’ll just go back to your party, otherwise.”

She speaks softly, almost assuring, and dark eyes glimmer with something calm and mysterious and sensual all at the same time.

 _Holy shit_ , this is happening.

Clary sticks up her middle finger when the bartender turns his back, and Isabelle laughs again.

Biting her lip, she can’t help the quip, “You promise not to cook?”

They might just die of laughter walking out the door, bell ringing and a sufficient tip. Not that the man deserves it, but maybe he’ll keep his eyes to himself in the future, she thinks with an eye roll.

Isabelle promises. Her teeth when she grins are pearly and blindingly bright.

…

“I got coffee, if you like.” is the first thing Isabelle tells her when they enter her flat.

Clary nods, feeling even more shy than before. Back at the bar, the fruity alcohol helped her confidence, a tiny bit, anyway, but she truly is a fish out of water.

The divine woman touched her elbow, the same way her shoulder still remembers the hand an hour ago, and leaves for the kitchen, presumably.

Well, here she is.

Clary can’t exactly claim she doesn’t stand around awkwardly in the entrance until the soft voice addresses her again, “Just sit anywhere! Sorry, living room’s a bit of a mess.”

So this seems to be an invitation to settle down, she thinks.

And if _that_ is what Isabelle describes as a mess, she’d be terrified of the possibility of the goddess seeing her own place. Not that that’s going to happen. Not like she wants that.

Anyway, her companion’s flat is just as mindblowingly elegant as Isabelle herself, to be honest.

A red velvet chaiselong, coffee table with what appears to be a marble tabletop, and, above all, acres of books. In fact, there’s barely any walls to be seen from bookshelves.

It’s cozy and overwhelming at the same time, Clary doesn’t know how.

Vanilla and lillies meet her nose, and soon enough coffee beans, too, and she stands too long, still taking in the plush carpet and flimsy curtain when Isabelle joins her again.

She looks embarrassed at Clary’s wonderous gaze. “Too much?” is the question, and she pats the seat next to her, finally taking her out of her own head.

Naturally, she frowns, “What do you mean?”

Isabelle giggles again, covering her mouth. It’s almost like a bell ringing, angel wings fluttering, or… okay, stop yourself, Clary.

“The decor, I mean. Eh, my book hoarding.”

She eagerly shakes her head, “It’s gorgeous.”

And her companion mouths again, _Thank you_ , and it feels kind of special. It’s quiet, only the sound of the past midnight traffic to be heard, and the few candles Isabelle lighted burning, and yet that thanks seems so confidential, it doesn’t even need to be heard.

Clary’s lightheaded. Or maybe she’s just telling herself that, cause those two drinks were a long time ago. She just feels warm.

Of course, she has to poke at that whole terrible-in-a-kitchen thing again, and also makes Isabelle promise the coffee’s alright (it’s great), and her confidence rises every single time she makes the goddess laugh.

At this point, Clary doesn’t even bother to correct the dubbing of _goddess_ by her inner voice.

Said goddess drinks chamomile tea herself, and the conversation ignites, carries on again somewhat, but well, they’re more touchy. _A lot more._

Oh, she doesn’t complain at all.

Neither does she complain when the hot beverages have gone, and a hand that previously curled around her own now slides up her thigh.

It’s nowhere near rushed. Actually, it’s achingly slow for Clary’s liking.

Said hand rests on top, thumb rubbing circles on her inner thigh, making knots in her stomach too persistent to ignore.

About ten minutes pass by this way, until she can hardly stop herself from straightening her back, legs twitching, staring at the hand like it’s the moon and stars. That’s when it’s retracted, which might just have given her a heart attack.

“ _Clary_ ,” Isabelle’s voice is even softer, but a lot more firm, and it makes her realise her companion’s left the couch, standing in the hallway, “Bedroom’s this way.”

You can probably imagine Clary didn’t have to be told that twice.

And soon enough, she finds her ponytail loosened, clothes somewhere in another universe that she doesn’t really care about (the bedroom floor), her back on lilac cotton sheets and the goddess in between her legs.

Fucking pinch her already, she must be dreaming.

The red lips she’s been eyeing all night tasted way better than anything she could imagine, Isabelle’s tongue meeting her own, and Clary moaning, embarrassingly much and too soon for her own liking, anyway.

When the first one escaped her mouth, however, the divine woman smiled that secretive smile, almost like she held all the knowledge in the world in her hand, and moved those very lips to Clary’s collarbones, breast, stomach, inner thighs, _fuck_.

A soft kind of torture is the only way to describe it.

It takes ages, or maybe mere seconds, she’s kind of lost track of time altogether, to be honest, until Isabelle’s doe-eyes gazing up at her again, tongue’s finding her clit, and Clary’s shuddering, soft and rushed, not even bothering to repress her moans anymore as her legs nearly quiver around the elegant dark curls.

“Clary.” she whispers the name this time, swiftly spreading Clary’s legs even more, and she just can’t help gripping the mattress as her companion’s tongue worked _wonders_ , keeping the teasing by pulling back to bite the sensitive skin of her thigh.

It’s too much. It’s absolutely everything.

And it envelops her when Isabelle gives her all the sensations her body craves, and the hand that’s haunted her all night comes to meet her own halfway in a tight grip.

This might just be the end of the best fucking day in Clary’s whole life.

…

Waking up, she just takes a second to blink, before the rays of sun hitting the bed make the woman currently wrapped in her arms shimmer like gold.

Clary’s already feeling a grin as the memories of last night floods her once again.

God, this feels a little too good to be true, yet here she is. She still doesn’t know what time is, if it even exists anymore, and she can imagine Simon’s texted her feverishly with inquiries of her night, but he can wait, Clary decides.

Right now, she could honestly just look at Isabelle forever.

She’s raised herself with one arm just a bit, catching a glimpse of her companion’s lashes fluttering as she dreams.

The hunger does also flood her soon enough, and she desperately fights it, honest to God, but she just has to give in eventually.

So Clary slides out from beneath the duvet, lightly kissing Isabelle’s shoulder, the goddess stirring but not quite waking, and she hesitantly grabs the dressing gown laid out on the dresser.

The angelic woman did put it out there _for her_ , insisting on her wearing it, almost, so she shrugs and makes her way to the kitchen.

Okay, she’s sort of terrified to wake Isabelle, cause holy shit, she just looks absolutely at peace.

This is why Clary moves in almost slow motion, sneaking around and concentrating hard on not making any noise, until she finds bread and baked beans. Coffee’s also needed, of course, it always is.

She may or may not fumble around with the coffee machine (why the hell does it have _this_ many buttons?), but eventually figures it out, thank God.

Clary honestly can’t imagine many things more embarrassing than waking the gorgeous stranger you hooked up with from their slumber because the kitchen appliances are just too fancy.

That word, hook-up, her mind stumbles over it, too.

It is what this is, though. All her hopeless romanticism of last night aside, she can’t exactly expect her companion to want to continue this.

They had a drink, they had sex. That… yeah, Clary won’t lie to herself, it only left her wanting more.

Not only sex, obviously, _far_ from only that.

Love at first sight, again. What, you’re gonna ask her to be your girlfriend after one night? You barely know her, come on, Clary.

She shakes her head at the inner voice. Coffee now, thoughts later.

Except the sound of a door opening interrupts her shenanigans, and she turns around, expecting the angelic woman to face her in the soft warmth of the morning, only to find it’s the front door.

And it’s definitely _not_ a face she expected to see.

“Alec?” she finds herself thinking out loud, rubbing at her eyes in case this is some weird, lucid dream.

Nope, definitely her sworn enemy spotting her now, frowning deeper than she’s ever experienced. “ _Clary?_ ”

Well, this is awkward. In fact, a silence falls over them, almost painfully, and the giant stares at her as if she’s a thief crawling in his window.

Clary has no fucking idea what to say right now.

Alec’s quicker than her, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Okay, _rude_. But how? What? Why? “I think I ought to ask you the same thing.” she almost snaps, embarrassingly sour for this early of the day.

His frown doesn’t change an inch, “Don’t think it’s all that strange of me to be in my sister’s apartment, Fray.”

She’s about to laugh at the last name, about to laugh at the familiar snark or joke about him looking like he’s seen a ghost, however, her brain stops her in her tracks.

Process that statement real quick. _Sister?_

Clary doesn’t even get the time to reply, when another door opens, and her divine companion steps into the room with a matching dressing gown, jumping in her skin slightly. “Alec!” Isabelle squeaks. 

The sour-looking man directs his eyes to her, softening his gaze. Huh, Clary’s only ever seen that expression of his around Magnus. But it was not like she knew he had a sister. A sister that she just had the most mindblowing sex with. Oh my _God._

“You can’t just come in unannounced like that, we talked about this.” she whispers to her _brother_ teasingly, not without shifting her eyes to Clary, soft blinking and an ethereal morning smile.

It takes just the right amount more of awkward silence and intense staring between the two, until Isabelle speaks up again, “You know each other?”

The goddess looks utterly confused. It’s fucking adorable, Clary concludes.

She nods tightlipped, almost wanting to turn her back on… whatever this is and pretend her imagination’s bullying her. That is, until Alec grabs her wrist, excuses them to his angelic sister, and pulls her outside the front door too fast for her to breathe.

…

Clary’s so-called frenemy pushes the door closed in a haste and turns to her, tapping his knee. “So.”

She almost expects more. Waits patiently, but the giant never continues the sentence, and that just leaves her more confused than anything. She hasn’t even finished processing the fact that she might be _in love_ with Isabelle.

Ultimately, Clary crosses her arms on her chest expectantly, lifting her brow until Alec realises the conversation isn’t moving forward.

“You hooked up with my sister.” he tells her. She rolls her eyes.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Her sworn enemy frowns again, but he almost looks… conflicted? She must be imagining that, too.

Another three minutes of excruciating silence passes by, and then the well-known anger burns in her stomach, and Clary decides it’s just about enough.

“Alec,” she flinches at her own sharp tone, but goes on, “I honestly don’t know what I did to offend you so much. But Isabelle- I, fuck, she’s amazing. I hope you know that you don’t have any right to tell us what we can or can’t do.”

She purses her lips after making her statement. The giant frowns even deeper, but then shakes his head and puts his hands in his pockets.

Clary’s unsure what’s going on right now. Especially since his sour face morphs into something more muted, and sad, all of a sudden.

Taking it as her leave, she’s about to open the door once more, but he flails an arm to regain her attention. _Ugh_ , can this morning not be so goddamn weird?

“Listen, Fray.” Alec gets it out, shakes his head again, not entirely visible if it’s at her or himself, “I’ve been trying to apologise, and it’s a lot harder than Mags makes it out to be, so can you please hear me out?”

Alright. What is this? An apology, or are her ears betraying her?

Okay, Clary sighs. Giving him only a nod seems to be enough to make him carry on, and he takes a deep breath. Damn, maybe she’s not imagining this, after all.

“It’s Jace,” he starts, the mention of her ex, and his brother, widening her eyes, but he holds out a hand signal to wait, “He was sulky after you broke up, okay?”

Now it’s Clary’s turn to frown. What has that got to do with anything?

The giant quickly answers her silent question, “I thought you broke his heart. Like, until three months ago. Don’t judge me.”

She’s most likely judging him, but also, this is just turning out all too silly. Clary was pretty broken about that relationship, too, not that Alec would know when they weren’t exactly… talking. 

Her and Jace talked it out a long time ago, though. She didn’t love him the way she was supposed to, which she didn’t exactly know what meant, but she knew it was right.

A sneaking thought tells her she might know what it means now, with the presence of a certain angelic woman, in every aspect of the word, waiting for them inside. A lot to process today.

Besides, ever since Jace met Meliorn, he’s seemed pretty okay about the whole thing.

Clary struggles with her words, but the fire inside her has already dimmed severely, “You- I can’t say I don’t get that reason for, uh, hating me. But didn’t he tell you what happened?”

Alec shakes his head. “I have to fight for him to tell me anything, Fray.”

Honestly, she almost wants to laugh at that, cause God, did she know that too well. Probably one of the many things that played into said break up. It’s even funnier to think that this _sworn enemy_ ordeal she’s been trying to understand is all due to her ex-boyfriend's lack of communication.

The giant looks like he’s swallowing bitter medicine when he speaks again, “I’m sorry. Seriously. Magnus has been kicking my ass about this, and rightfully so.”

Clary never, ever thought she’d see him look so sincere. Regret is practically written all over his face right now. And she takes pity, because who fucking cares.

Maybe they’d laugh at this later. At least, she knows her best friend will be absolutely thrilled to not have her and his boyfriend at each other’s throats day in and day out.

So, she smiles.

Very weird feeling to give him one, and he looks surprised, so they probably both have to adjust to this sudden change of the dynamic.

“Apology accepted.” Clary tells him.

Does he actually look… happy? It’s nowhere near a Magnus smile, obviously, or an Isabelle smile, she imagines, but it’s bordering on being shy. She’s still waiting for someone to pinch her, but nope, not a dream.

“Good,” Alec says, a little too loud for her still tired mind, but he nods like he’s had some great revelation, “Are you gonna go in there and ask my sister on a date, then?”

If Clary had had her cup of coffee yet, she’d choke on the liquid.

A bit shocking, that’s for sure, but hey, seems like he sure won’t mind the idea of her and Isabelle dating. If that’s even an option. Fuck, she allows herself to hope the divine woman would want that, too.

Uncrossing her arms, she looks up at her former frenemy, not entirely believing anything happening right now, “You think she’d say yes?”

The fucker rolls his eyes at her. Fair enough, they’re equal now, or something.

“Duh. I think she wanted to ask you that herself,” he answers, and when Clary’s disbelief paints itself across her features, he continues, “Her smile. Magnus smiles like that.”

So. That statement hits her like a trainwreck. Alec’s looking reminiscent again, his hard exterior morphing with the sappiness, and so she smiles to herself more than anything else.

Maybe, just maybe, she’s got a chance. It’s not like he’s promised her, but fuck, she hopes he’s right. God, let her be lucky.

With the constant image of Isabelle's soft, golden features behind her eyes, she quickly bids the ridiculously tall man goodbye, not even giving him time to wish her luck.

Here goes nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've come this far and enjoy my work, come and say hi on my [tumblr](https://missorgana.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/empstrikesback) !!


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